Millicent in Bloom
by Bfd1235813
Summary: Ever pick up a yearbook, see a photo, and wish you could ask someone, "Whatever happened to...?" Of course you have. Everyone has, except for liars. Hermione transformed herself into Millicent Bulstrode's cat. This leads inevitably, in some cases, to speculation about what Millicent eventually transformed into. One possibility follows.


**Acknowledgment: The author claims nothing in this story. Harry Potter, his classmates, friends and acquaintances and the places described here all belong to JK Rowling. **

_Author's Note: Ever wonder about the backstory of characters like Millicent Bulstrode? They're probably as three-dimensional as Harry, Hermione, Ron and Hagrid, if we knew a bit more detail. Millicent Bulstrode was more than the wrestler who had to be pulled off of Hermione in Chamber of Secrets. She was a woman, and a witch, and a scholar, and she had a personality. She was capable of growth, of feeling love, giving love, suffering from loss and appreciating the gestures of friendship. This is her story._

**Millicent in Bloom**

The Battle of Hogwarts ended the fighting phase of the Second Wizarding War. While the academic year was still underway, according to the calendar, the fighting in and around the school caused such destruction the rest of the term was canceled. Minister for Magic Shacklebolt and Headmistress McGonagall met in a series of meetings in the first seventy-two hours after Harry Potter dispatched Tom Riddle and agreed on some basic adjustments for the coming year.

One, they waived the normal fees. Students could re-take the same courses they had attempted during the year when Voldemort's forces controlled the school, or make reasonable adjustments to their schedules, without charge. Two, students would be admitted without regard to their, or their parents' previous political affiliations. Three, the house system would be studied and reformed to eliminate the more pernicious effects stemming from house rivalries. Four, students would be closely monitored for signs of emotional trauma. Any student needing help with issues originating in the previous year would get it, free of charge.

The Ministry kept parents informed throughout the summer, owling progress reports on repairs to the castle and painting a sunny picture of the New Hogwarts that would begin term according to tradition, on September 1.

Returning students came via the Hogwarts Express, as usual, except for those who lived nearby or were coming from outside Britain. Adjustment to the changed character of Hogwarts School began to emerge during the rail trip. First years were as ebullient as ever, while everyone in second year and above seemed to be subdued, a few to the point of depression.

Odd as it might sound, the old house divisions had already begun to fade, as the sixth and seventh-years who had peeked over into the abyss stepped back, carefully, from the precipice. Regardless of their families' political feelings, the survivors had all experienced the loss of classmates. Not even the most hardcore of Voldemort's fans thought Lavender Brown or Colin Creevey got what was coming to them.

This led to more adjustments as old divisions and alliances were re-evaluated in the changed conditions that followed the death of Voldemort. Suddenly, there was space for friendships to grow where Voldemort's presence and program had once squeezed everything else out.

The journey from King's Cross Station had been underway for about an hour when Harry Potter found Draco Malfoy at the end of one of the cars in the second section of the Hogwarts Express.

"You too?" he asked as they stood in the corridor awaiting a turn at the lav.

"I've become addicted to coffee," said Draco. "It really does help with jangled nerves. If my hands aren't doing something else, one of them is looking for a cup. Trouble is…"

Draco gestured at the closed door.

"How's the wand?" Harry asked, after he'd finished laughing at Draco's predicament.

They both held themselves steady, gripping the brass handrail while leaning against the side of the car.

"We've been getting to know one another again," said Draco. "It takes time. Not saying you did anything to it, but it seems just a bit demanding at times. Hard to describe."

Harry thought about Draco's comment.

"Well, it went on something of an adventure," Harry said. "Homely magic may feel tame."

Both of them snickered a little before their faces slackened back into neutrality. Harry studied the brass work in the car. It was all so perfectly polished. Harry's idle mind wondered if humans did the polishing using wands or some other magic, or if there was a crew of railroad elves, perhaps specialists, who went through the cars before Hogwarts journeys.

The trolley witch came through pushing her cart, forcing Draco and Harry out of their fugues as they flattened themselves against the side to let her by. Young witches and wizards passed in twos and threes.

"Anyone in there?" Draco called as he applied three good raps of his knuckles to the door. A voice answered but neither could make out the words.

"You fixed your wand?" Draco asked.

"So far," Harry said as he held up a hand, two fingers crossed.

"How'd you do it?" asked Draco. "Once the wood suffers a complete break…"

"Oh, I know," Harry said, "I had a unique opportunity to use a special tool. Probably shouldn't say more."

The door opened and two witches stepped out of the lav into the corridor.

"Millicent, Daphne," Draco said, just slightly inclining his head.

"Witches," Harry greeted them as a collective.

"You two?" said Millicent Bulstrode. "I never suspected."

"My lips are sealed," added Daphne Greengrass.

Harry was looking at Draco as they crossed the corridor, which is probably why another student was able to walk in behind them unnoticed.

Unlike the minimalist lavatory cabins on muggle railroads, the Hogwarts Express was magical, and the lavatories were as well. The interiors were larger, through magic, than the dimensions of the car should have allowed, and were fitted out to nineteenth century standards. Polished walnut paneling covered the walls and more walnut was used in the construction of the commode enclosures.

Contrasting woods appeared in the marquetry used in the house arms inset in the walnut. The decoration didn't stop with the obeisance to the Hogwarts houses. A frieze encircled the compartment a few inches down from the ceiling, a band of Latin punctuated with runes. There was a permanent discussion as to whether the admixture could say anything that made sense, either in the original or translation. There were two stalls with lockable doors, a double sink, lots of brass and mirrors, plenty of clean hand towels and magic-enhanced cleaning products out of all proportion to any prospective need.

Harry heard the lock click and turned around.

"Those witches certainly weren't very nice to you wizarding gentlemen," said Romilda Vane. She had set the bolt but she used her wand to put a chain in place. "One moment."

Romilda went into the nearest stall and closed the door.

"After all we've been through," she began from inside, but she didn't complete her sentence.

Draco and Harry busied themselves at the sinks, dabbing water on hair with their fingertips, checking in the mirrors for whiskers missed the last time they shaved, completely ignoring the unused stall next to Romilda's.

"To finish my thought," said Romilda as she left the stall and stepped over to the sinks. She looked over the selection of liquid and cake soaps, choosing an enchanted bottle of a pink liquid that dispensed squirts of hand soap via some no-touch charm. She took her time washing up, working the soap into a lather, scrubbing one hand with long, slow, lingering strokes, then switching hands and repeating the process.

"It's practically the twenty-first century, and after all we've been through, it's surely agreed life is too short to waste it by being excessively puritanical."

When she was done rinsing Romilda stood expectantly, her hands over the sink, wet and dripping. Draco figured out what she wanted and plucked a clean towel from a stack on a shelf under the mirrors and handed it over.

"Mmm…" said Romilda, accepting the towel. "Life will be very pleasant if we just don't start believing propriety is an end in itself, don't you think?"

Romilda turned to the mirror, leaning close and dabbing her face, here and there, with the towel.

"So, are you wizards going to take care of your business?"

"Not with an audience," Harry managed to reply as Draco unlocked the cabin door, opening it and standing aside for Romilda.

"You're no fun," she pronounced. Trying once more, Romilda extended just the tip of her tongue to moisten her upper lip, drawing it from right to left. She locked eyes with both, in turn, as if assessing a whether a given specimen was an interesting representative of its species and breed, worthy of closer inspection. Eventually, she turned and stepped out into the corridor, Draco closing the door behind her.

"That Romilda," said Draco from his stall.

"What else is there to say?" asked Harry.

They did what they'd come for without further comment.

"Ever go there?" Draco asked as he came out of the stall.

"No," said Harry. "And I've never heard a credible report that anyone did, either."

"She's too good for us," observed Draco as he turned off the faucets.

"Too good for this world, bless her," said Harry, pulling two towels from the stack and tossing one to Draco.

The two wizards left the cabin in complete agreement and walked to the end car. Draco held the car door open for Harry. What a difference one year can make.

The final car of the Hogwarts Express had been appropriated by Slytherins for as long as anyone could remember. There was no formal designation. At some point Slytherins had begun gravitating to the end of the train, while a reciprocal movement led the members of the other houses to other accommodations. The end car had no cabins, so conversations up and down the aisle competed for attention.

The layout was designed to let passengers choose to let two face two by rotating seats. Several Slytherins were passing the time with board and card games, Exploding Snap being a particular favorite.

A few people looked up when Draco and Harry walked in. A few stopped talking and stared. That wasn't enough to diminish the cacophony. They shook some hands just inside. It was fun. Everyone was friendly and smiling. Their fellow students clearly craved a return to some kind of normalcy. Without thinking he was doing anything other than seeing a face, putting a name to it and extending a greeting, Harry walked the length of the car, taking his time, shaking hands, saying innocuous things like, "Good to see you again."

Draco came with Harry, working the crowd, asking about parents and siblings, promising to take a meal together and really catch up at some undefined future date. They were too unformed and inexperienced to appreciate the politicking they were doing by walking around and shaking hands. They hadn't even thought about the significance to others of their actions.

Decades hence, schoolmates would still be saying things like, "I knew it was over when Potter and Malfoy turned the Slytherin car into a village _fete_."

"Harry."

"Neville!" Harry said. He came very close to adding, "What are you doing in here?"

"And witches…Millicent, Daphne, Astoria. Good day. Nice to see you again."

Daphne and Astoria Greengrass sat next to the exterior wall of the cabin. Neville Longbottom and Millicent Bulstrode sat across from each other, on the aisle. A game of Exploding Snap was in progress on a wooden chess board held up by an assortment of knees. Harry could not help noticing Millicent's crossed ankles just below the bottom hem of her Hogwarts robe, nor the shoeless foot of Neville Longbottom that rested in the 'V' formed by Millicent's lower legs.

"Potter," allowed the witches, more or less in unison. They turned their attention back to the game, a bit ostentatiously, to Harry's thinking.

Harry nodded to Draco, who was still at the tail end of the car, then walked to the door and into the second-last car. He didn't have any plans other than to pass the journey with people, as opposed to sitting, alone, with his own thoughts. Harry opened a compartment door in the second car to find it occupied by a single passenger, an adult, very dark-skinned, dressed in the kind of matching trousers and long tunic Kingsley Shacklebolt usually wore. The man was playing a thumb piano while he watched the countryside roll by.

"Pardon me, would you like some company?" Harry asked.

"Of course, come in, come in," said the man, putting his instrument down on the seat beside him. He extended his hand.

"Touré," he said, "Soon to be Professor Touré when I take up my duties at Hogwarts."

"Harry Potter," Harry said, taking the professor's hand. "Welcome to Hogwarts. What will you be teaching?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Touré. "Perhaps you will have some things to teach me?"

Harry's face must have shown the nauseating mixture of terror, sadness and battle-fury that swept over him at Touré's question.

"Oh, Mr. Potter, I am so sorry," said the professor. "I've brought up painful memories. It's much too soon for me to ask such a question, even in a casual conversation. Your well-reported accomplishments don't convey an authorization to pry."

"I understand," said Harry. "No apology necessary. You have a professional interest, and the same natural curiosity all the other wizards have. It is just a bit raw, for me, at present. We'll sit down over tea sometime."

"That's very generous of you, Mr. Potter," said Touré, picking up his thumb piano. "Do you like music?"

"I've never heard one of those before," Harry said. "I liked what you were playing when I came in."

"Well, then, listen to this and you can tell me what you think," said Touré, as he began to move his thumbs over the springy steel keys.

Touré started with a simple four-note phrase, repeated eight times. Then he doubled the tempo and played it sixteen times through, then branched off into variations on variations, always keeping the basic four-note melody underneath it all. Harry looked at the professor playing, eyes closed, thumbs never playing a false note. He wondered how many hours the man had spent with that little wooden box in his hands. Eventually, Harry closed his eyes and let himself focus solely on the music with all his other sensory inputs suspended. His internal state might have been described as enraptured. The song had gone on for ten minutes, more or less, when the cabin door opened.

"Got room?" Neville asked as he stuck his head through.

"Sure," said Harry, blinking as he moved over to free up a little space, already missing the tranquility he'd felt listening to Professor Touré.

Neville came in, followed by Millicent. Harry made introductions all around.

"Were you all…" asked Touré, drawing a circle in the air with his finger.

"Yep," said Millicent. She sat very still, moving little besides her eyes, and those locked on and held. Neville leaned against the back of the bench seat and crossed his legs.

"Going to play quidditch, Harry?" Neville asked.

"Haven't heard if quidditch is back," Harry said. "I'd like to. For the distraction, if nothing else."

"Where is your instrument from, Professor?" asked Millicent.

"This one is from Senegal," said Touré. "They're all over Africa, as far as I know."

The trip continued, Millicent and Professor Touré carrying most of the conversation in the compartment. Harry was practiced at thinking through arrival at Hogsmeade Station. When the engineer blew the whistle to signal journey's end, Harry pulled out a tiny pre-tied necktie, touched it with his wand, and proceeded to pull his now full-size necktie over his head. The tiny robe he pulled out next got the same treatment. Once he'd shrugged into it Harry was ready for the carriage that would take him to the castle.

"Are we?" Harry asked.

"Looks like it," said Millicent.

"Professor, we'll leave you at this point," said Harry. "See you inside. Good luck during your time at Hogwarts."

When everyone had exchanged repeated expressions of how pleased they were to have met, the party of students disembarked and went looking for an empty carriage. Harry could see that Hagrid had his hands full corralling the first-years, as he did every year, so he limited his interaction to a smile and a wave and stayed out of the half-giant's way. Harry, Millicent and Neville took up most of their carriage, but they managed to squeeze enough to make room when Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy came running up just as they started to move.

"Daphne?" asked Millicent.

"A young gentleman offered to ride on the step if she would do him the honor of taking his place in another carriage," said Astoria.

Harry didn't say anything, although he was occupied with some serious analysis of his own internal desire to punch the anonymous gentleman, or, if he wasn't available, anyone with a punchable face. He didn't associate the mention of Daphne Greengrass with his state of agitation. He'd been through Hell. Agitation was possible if he saw a duckling swimming across a pond. It had nothing to do with Daphne Greengrass accepting a favor from an anonymous footman of a wizard with a punchable face.

The thestrals were very efficient, as always, delivering their cargo to the castle well in advance of the boat-borne first years. Harry walked in with a mixed group, not really paying attention to houses. He didn't need guides to find the Gryffindor table. Fully equipped, couture-wise, since the Hogwarts Express, Harry stood just inside the doorway to the Great Hall, patting himself down, trying to find his peaked wizard's hat. He knew he'd had it when he started out.

"Allow me?"

Harry turned toward the sound.

"Greengrass," he said.

"It's our last year, Potter," she said. "Careers, professions, the world awaits. If you can get the stick out of your bum, I can be Daphne Greengrass, your Hogwarts classmate. Who knows when the old school tie will be a leg up, a door opener, the scale-tipper?"

All the while she was holding her wand between her thumb and first two fingers. She gave Harry a scan, shoulder to the hem of his robe.

"Your cap seems to have gotten out of your pocket into the space between the lining and the shell," she said. "Here."

Daphne pulled off her peaked hat and held it out to Harry.

"What will you do?" Harry asked. Daphne just looked at him, held up her wand, and cocked her head in a 'Really?' gesture.

Harry let the hat lay on his flattened hand as Daphne gave it a single tap with the tip of her wand. She took her hat back and put it on her head, Harry's newly-replicated version of Daphne's hat lying there, waiting.

"You're welcome," she said as she left Harry, slack-jawed and staring at his hand, and departed for the Slytherin table.

"Got him?" asked Millicent Bulstrode as Daphne took the bench across from her.

"He's got the bait in his mouth," said Daphne. "Will he bite down? I don't know. I feel I owe it to myself to try. How about you? Did you set the hook?"

Millicent made a little face.

"It's just plants, Daphne," she said. "We both like plants. Only, Longbottom is in another dimension. I trail in his wake. Everyone does."

Daphne looked skeptical.

"You play footsie over plants?"

"Daphne!" Millicent protested. "The 'footsie' as you describe it, was little more than getting comfortable in restricted surroundings. Longbottom is so tall, he'd have had a cramp if I hadn't made room for him."

Daphne was very skeptical, thinking Millicent's explanation too convenient and self-serving, even if it were true, in a technical sense. She invited Millicent to have it her way, just to be agreeable.

"If you say so."

No one was able to explain just exactly how it came about, but the sorting of the first years took on a new and welcome aspect that year. Instead of the houses cheering wildly when they got a new member, and remaining silent the rest of the time, cheers and applause started coming from all over the Great Hall as each student climbed down from the stool. There were some individual exceptions. Ron Weasley let several new Slytherins go by without a response. Hermione nudged him with her elbow, though, and gave him a look that conveyed elements of scolding. Ron applauded politely after that.

Harry was patient throughout the ceremony and the introductions of the new members of staff, but he didn't take a lot of interest. When Professor Touré was introduced it brought back pleasant memories of the peace Harry felt when he listened to the professor's mini-concert on the train. The feast was as spectacular as it had ever been. Harry wondered whether word had gotten to the elves that they should extend themselves a bit and give the new and returning students the best beginning possible for New Hogwarts.

"He's picking at his food," Millicent said. She looked at Daphne, who was exerting infinite ergs of willpower in an effort to keep her mind off Potter, bait and whether he'd swallow the hook.

"Longbottom?" Daphne asked.

"Psssh," said Millicent. "No. That truly will be the day. Potter."

"Worry about your own wizard's nutrition, Millicent," advised Daphne.

"And you'll worry about yours?" Millicent teased.

"I have no claim on Potter, as you're well aware."

Millicent looked skeptical.

"Yet," was all she said.

The post-beginning-of-term-feast was traditionally devoted to shepherding first-years to their dorms, welcome speeches in the house common rooms, and settling-in. Only on the following day were students expected to embark on the serious study of magic. Neville rose early that morning, hurried through his pre-breakfast routine and headed straight for the greenhouses. The wards that protected the plants and equipment were fairly extensive, for a school property, but they were there for a reason. Neville Longbottom was keyed into all of them.

Madam Sprout had spent decades breeding, hybridizing and propagating plants used by witches and wizards. She had brought several species back from the brink of extinction. Some were benign. Others were incorrigibly hostile.

Neville arrived at the greenhouses, wand in hand, touching locks as he moved from one building to the next. The last had the most extensive security, and Neville had to touch his wand tip to three different locks to gain access. Once inside, he walked from shelf to shelf, keeping his wand out, looking at the plants, assessing everything—color, wilt, potting medium, buds and blossoms. He'd just cast a temporal charm (Neville seldom wore a watch as they just got destroyed by his contact with all kinds of soil and water) and decided he had a few more minutes to spare before he'd need to leave for breakfast, when a great banging at the first greenhouse made its way through the structures.

Neville retraced his steps, stopping only to check the security devices and charms along the way.

"Millicent!" he said when he opened the last door. "What are you doing here?"

"Lovely day to you, too, guvnor," said Millicent as she touched a knuckle to her forelock.

"I'm certainly glad to see you, and I meant no offense," said Neville. "Just surprised. Feel like doing a little thinning and transplanting?"

Millicent couldn't hold back a slight grin, much as she wanted to.

"A late birthday present," she said, holding out a small parcel. "I had it in time but we never got together. I was looking for an opportunity all of August and it just never arrived."

"Oh, I wish you hadn't stood on ceremony," said Neville as he turned the package over, looking for a logical way through the wrapping paper. "Gran would have loved to fix you up with a cup of tea. We don't get very many young witches over our way, you know? Hermione, once in a great while, if Ron comes over. Oh!"

Neville pushed his thumb under a flap and the outer wrapper unfolded, revealing a bound notebook with Field Notes stamped in forest green on a khaki field. The spine and corners were reinforced in a tobacco brown leather.

"Wow," said Neville.

"Happy Eighteenth," said Millicent. Neville looked at Millicent's face. The pug she usually showed the world was there, but it had a soft friendliness to it that only Neville and a few other people had seen before.

"Thank-you," said Neville. "I can't wait to make some entries. Ah…"

Neville thought he'd like to do something physical, if Millicent wanted the same, but he was at a loss for a means to determine if that was the case.

"Can I…we…," Neville tried.

"Neville," said Millicent, looking in his eyes. "Just…"

She closed her own eyes and leaned forward. Neville closed his and leaned. Their noses bumped, not gently. They both started to laugh.

"Let's try…," Millicent said as she took a little of Neville's shirt in her hand and pulled them toward each other. Lips touched lips. They stayed there a bit, just touching. Millicent opened her lips slightly and took Neville's lower lip between both of hers. Neville's hand was clutching Millicent's bicep, which was soon getting a good squeezing. Millicent let her head drift back, slowly, holding Neville's lip for a moment as she did.

"Ahhh…" they both said. Eyes locked, neither wanting to let go of the pleasant.

"Look it over," said Millicent, meaning the field notebook. "We'll miss breakfast, and I don't think either of us wants to do that."

"It's gorgeous," Neville said, turning his new notebook over, opening it up, and riffling the pages. "Where'd you find it?"

"Flourish and Blotts sells them, blank," said Millicent. "They can put anything on for the customer, so I had them do that, where it says, 'Field Notes.' You can have your name added if you want."

"Better let me do that door," Neville said. They'd stepped out of the greenhouse. Millicent stood by and Neville reset the lock.

"Breakfast, then?" he asked. A new thought occurred and Neville raised his left arm, which Millicent took. They walked slowly down the cobblestone walkway between the greenhouses and the castle.

"Neville?" said Millicent, interrupting Neville's continued perusal of his new notebook.

"Hmm?"

"I know this sounds awkward and maybe out of place, but I have to ask," Millicent began.

"Luna?" asked Neville.

"Yes," said Millicent. "How did you guess?"

"Not a problem. You need to know. She went off looking for snorkacks," Neville said. "She will always go looking for snorkacks. I was pondering our status when Gran announced we were walking to Ottery St. Catchpole for the June fete. The walk was good for thinking. Then I stopped at the stand with all the trays of little cabbage and tomato sets for sale, and there you were. 'There's someone who's not off to wherever to look for snorkacks,' I said to myself. It was like a sign."

"Oh, that's a lot of responsibility," Millicent said, desperately trying to control her laughter. "Fulfilling a wizard's expectations following the manifestation of a sign."

She just said it, without fancying it up with frou-frou. By then they'd nearly come to the point where they'd split off to their house tables. Neville dropped his voice.

"If I didn't think you were witch enough to handle it, I would have refused to accept this," he said, waggling the field notes in front of her. Millicent dropped his arm, but not without one last, crushing squeeze. They parted without another word, or even a last look. Still, the Great Hall had seen enough to draw a few conclusions.

"So?"

Millicent had witches coming up to her, asking that one-word question, for the rest of the day. They were mostly Slytherins, but all the houses sent at least a couple of delegates.

"Friends," said Millicent. She blushed the first few times, but that went away. She stuck to her story. Neville was her friend. They'd talked at a village fete. They both liked plants.

Neville, of course, besides being the heir to an Ancient and Noble House, one traditionally allied with the Potters, was an acknowledged war hero. He'd struck the killing blow to the animagus Nagini, with a sword, no less, demonstrating more nerve and coolness under pressure than just about anyone other than Harry Potter himself. Like Cincinnatus, Neville saved Rome with his sword then went back to his real passion, the plow. It wasn't really the plow but the potting shed that intrigued Neville, but the analogy stood.

The Gryffindor wizards gave Neville plenty of chances to divulge the details of his private time with Millicent, to which Neville gave a single answer: "She's strong."

Millicent and Neville soon became one of those pairs whose names are spoken together, no matter what the context.

Millicent and Neville put one hundred mandrake shoots in a rooting medium so there would be sufficient mandrakes for the following year's herbologists. Millicent and Neville removed the plants from Greenhouse #4, then used their wands to freshen up the aging wood, tighten the fasteners and repaint everything in green enamel, then replaced the plants. Millicent and Neville heard of an elf seeking a situation and recruited him to be the dedicated greenhouse elf at Hogwarts, and a huge help to the brilliant but aging Professor Sprout. Millicent and Neville ate lunch together on Saturday and Sunday, sitting together at the far end of either the Gryffindor or Slytherin table.

By December, they knew.

"Do you believe in The One?" Neville asked.

"It's hard to know what to believe, after our last couple of years, Neville," said Millicent. "I did, probably up through fourth year. Then Harry…"

"Umm…" said Neville. In truth, he was making an affirmative 'Umm' and agreeing with Millicent. "Cedric. That's when I knew. We were going to do it all again. It just had to work itself out, and it was going to be bad."

"I'd like to believe," Millicent assured him, adding, "Again. I'd like to believe it's you, Neville. I'd like to believe you're The One."

"Same here," said Neville. "You. You're The One."

They were sitting on a marble bench looking over Hogwarts' lake.

"I'd like to take you to meet Gran," said Neville. "Formally. Tea in the parlor."

"That would be nice," said Millicent.

Millicent was of age and her parents had been lost in the war, so there were no bureaucratic hurdles for either to signing out of Hogwarts for the next weekend, which they spent at Longbottom Manor under the watchful chaperonage of Neville's grandmother Augusta.

They had their tea in the parlor, just as Neville had said. Millicent wouldn't let Augusta do anything for herself. She called Neville's gran "Madam" or "Madam Augusta" throughout Saturday and Sunday. She kissed Augusta's hand when it was time to leave.

Millicent inherited her family home when her parents were killed, but she had no desire to spend Christmas there, alone. Daphne and Tracey were discussing taking her with them for Christmas. Their parents' households were intact, so there would be plenty of distraction for what was sure to be a difficult holiday season. Daphne was detailed to raise the issue, which she did at lunch during the first week in December.

"Oh, Daphne, that is so sweet of you!" said Millicent. "And you were going to help, too, Tracey? You two are true friends, do you know that? I would accept, in a flash, but Madam Augusta claimed me, can you believe it? Apparently, I didn't overwhelm her when Neville took me for the weekend."

Daphne and Tracey were well-schooled in the arts of witchly social graces and made all the appropriate responses, literally bathing Millicent in comments showing how delighted they were that she and Neville were progressing so satisfactorily in their relationship. They were both a little bit surprised that the formidable Millicent had not overwhelmed the ancient Augusta Longbottom. They only spoke of it between themselves, of course. They'd heard Augusta had put some Death Eaters to flight during the fighting. Perhaps there was more to that story than they knew. They agreed they'd put at least one of their mothers forward to lead a courtesy call on Augusta during Christmas break. She might have some stores of witchcraft she'd like to share with the witches of the rising generation.

That winter, Daphne Greengrass made it her business to ascertain the status of Harry Potter's relationship with Ginny Weasley. A year older than Ginny, and from a different house, Daphne seldom saw the redhead except at meals or in the library. Ginny had been linked to several wizards over the previous couple of years. This or that wizard and Ginny had eaten together or been seen in Hogsmeade, sometimes engaged in a little snogging in the Three Broomsticks.

Then Ginny and Harry had become an item, only to be separated throughout Daphne's first attempt at seventh year when Harry, Ron and Hermione had been Undesirable Number One and his two co-conspirators. The fugitives escaped again and again, driving the Ministry and its pathetic thralls to distraction. Despite the volumes of tabloid issues that had been printed purporting to relate the adventures of the little gang, Harry and his friends remained exceptionally reluctant to speak of their activities while on the run. Certain times and places, such as the visit to Gringotts,' could be independently established. As for whatever they were doing when they weren't in one of those places…nothing.

Ginny often took meals sitting next to Ron at the Gryffindor table. That typically put her across from Harry and Hermione. Other than that, Daphne didn't see Harry and Ginny walking around together or making eyes at each other in the corridors.

Daphne raised the issue with Tracey Davis.

"I need to know if the redhead is a factor," Daphne said. "There's no sense wasting time if Potter has been withdrawn from the market. She really hadn't ought to be that much trouble. I just can't generate any interest in taking him away from a quidditch player and sister of his chum. If he really likes her. If he does, I doubt we'd make each other happy anyway. Whether he's Harry Bloody Potter or not."

"You know your own mind, it seems," said Tracey.

"I like to think so," Daphne replied.

Tracey didn't say anything right away. She sat on Daphne's bed, leaning on the headboard.

"He slew a monster," Tracey began.

"He did," said Daphne.

"Was he our Gawain? Virtue? Purity? Was that his edge?" Tracey asked. "What if he is simply a better, more deadly monster than his foe?"

"I know, I know," Daphne said, her lower lip trembling. She looked around. It was just Tracey and herself. "Merlin help me, I don't care."

Tracey loved her cousin, totally, without reservation. She looked at Daphne's face for a long time.

"Fine. Tea, over Christmas break," Tracey said. "A few people from our year. We'll prioritize people who don't have family with whom they can spend the holidays. Millicent, Neville, Harry Potter…"

"Tracey, that's brilliant," said Daphne when Tracey had finished. "Where do you want to have it?"

"One of our houses, I suppose," said Tracey. "Let's write home tonight."

Daphne and Tracey had two excellent ideas revolving around tea and socializing over Christmas break. Somehow, the two joined and became a single stream. It was Augusta who provided the venue, and the host and hostess were Neville and Millicent. Augusta had plenty of room and her house elf brewed pot after pot of tea. The guests weren't solely war orphans, as a fair number had one parent and some had two. What was important was the orphans had people around them to break up the oppressive loneliness of the Christmas break.

Tea was drunk and lots of trays of little cookies made the rounds. Harry stood in a corner of Madam Augusta's parlor, a circular interior formed from the round corner tower that climbed three stories to break up the mass of building where two sides of the structure met.

"Have you seen your parents, Neville?" Harry asked between sips of a very smooth green tea.

"I have," said Neville. "Gran and I took Millicent and I introduced them. They did well, remembered her name for an hour. We'll go back and see how their retention is."

"Oh, that's got to be rough," said Harry.

"I keep it in perspective Harry," said Neville. "I get to go see them."

"Yes, I suppose," Harry said. "Thanks for remembering."

"Not to dampen your holidays, but have you been to Godric's Hollow? I'll go along, if you want to go," Neville said.

"That's very kind of you, Neville," said Harry. "I'm going to take you up on that."

Harry had been watching the goings-on in the parlor, and what he could see of the dining room through the big double doors. He liked seeing everyone together. At the time of Dumbledore's funeral Harry would have called anyone a liar if they said the day would come when the gathering at Augusta's would even be possible. Everyone seemed to be working hard to put the past behind them and get on with a normal magical life.

One thing Harry noticed was how Millicent seemed to be everywhere, chatting up everyone, bumping cheeks with all the witches, touching forearms, paying complements, extending thanks for coming and keeping an eye on the food and beverage supplies. Harry had never seen that side of Millicent before. She had seemed to be a mannish and intimidating witch with an iffy temperament. The kind of person one avoids because it is just easier that way. This Millicent was sunshine and graciousness wrapped around a natural-born hostess. No wonder Neville was smitten.

Harry was thinking about freshening up his tea when Augusta entered the room, looked around, and walked straight to where Harry and Neville stood.

"Gran," said Neville. "Good news?"

Augusta gave him a look, then looked at Harry, then back to Neville.

"Oh," said Harry, "Go ahead, I was thinking it was time for another cup of tea anyway. Catch you later, Neville, Madam Augusta."

Harry went looking for the freshest tea pot as Augusta took Neville by the arm and walked off. It looked to Harry like she was on her way to taking Neville out to the verandah.

The dining room table was doing buffet duty. One end was effectively the coffee and tea bar, with carafes, cream, sugar, a big bowl of lemon wedges and a jug of ice water with a spigot at the bottom. Harry walked up and stood, waiting for Tracey Davis to finish topping up Daphne's tea.

"So," said Daphne when she saw him.

"Did you two do all this?" Harry asked. "I first heard something, then Millicent and Neville…"

"Yes and no," said Daphne. "Some ideas came together. The details don't matter. Are you having a good time?"

"Oh, absolutely," Harry said. "I thought I'd be sitting alone at Christmas, a character straight from Dickens. This is a lifesaver."

"Glad you think so, and that is really all that matters, isn't it?" said Daphne.

A tall, white-haired wizard approached their group. He'd come from the interior of the house, somewhere off in the direction whence Augusta'd come. Daphne turned serious.

"Father," she said and waited until the wizard had kissed her cheek. "May I present Mr. Harry Potter, O.M., a classmate of mine, Tracey's, Neville's, and Millicent's?"

"Mr. Potter," the wizard almost gasped, "Cyrus Greengrass, it's an honor to meet you."

He extended his hand, which Harry accepted.

"Likewise, sir," said Harry. "Daphne is a remarkable witch. Besides which she has the manners and approach to people that come from direct observation in a household filled with grace and kindness. She was clearly most fortunate in her parentage."

"Whoa, Daphne, did you hear that?" asked Cyrus, exhibiting an ear-to-ear smile. "All your mother's hard work wasn't for nothing."

"Oh, I agree, Father, Mother did a remarkable job, considering what she had to work with," said Daphne. Tracey lay her fingertips on Daphne's back and drew them back and forth three or four times.

"Oh, I don't know, I think you both had the best," Cyrus said. "Mr. Potter, Tracey, and you of course, sweetheart, can I ask your indulgence? Augusta and I have concluded some business that couldn't wait and we need to visit Gringotts for some folderol. If we go now there might be some day left when we're done. I promise we'll get together again before break ends, if you're interested."

"Of course, I'll look forward to it," Harry said, neither Tracey nor Daphne objecting.

Cyrus Greengrass inclined his head toward Tracey, then Harry, then leaned and bumped cheeks with Daphne. Harry watched Cyrus leave, presumably to fetch Augusta and get on to Gringotts. Daphne looked at Tracey, who looked back at Daphne. Something was going on, something that escaped Harry.

"Millicent is a cousin," Daphne said. "Her father is gone and Father took responsibility for her business affairs. The kind of things a parent would do, normally. Augusta does the same for Neville, because of what happened to his parents."

Harry noticed Tracey was about ready to jump up and down.

"So, if your father is here, talking business with Mrs. Longbottom, and they're off to Gringotts for some folderol, that means…"

Daphne and Tracey were grinning and nodding. Harry felt a hand on his shoulder. Neville was suddenly there, leaning toward the witches, voice low.

"That means we can't discuss this any further until the official announcement, whenever that may be," Neville said. His voice sounded very much like he meant it.

"Of course, Neville, dear, we couldn't possibly…how long have we known one another?"

Tracey and Daphne sounded like they were doing some kind of dramatic choral reading complete with a main body and a counterpoint that reinforced the principal theme.

Harry kept his mouth shut and extended his right hand, which was apparently within the rules because Neville took it. Millicent walked up, a smile trying to break out. Tracey and Daphne muted their reception but it was apparent the pressure was building. Millicent looked at Neville and flicked her eyes toward a door. Harry knew there was a small library and study down a little hallway outside. Millicent took the witches by their arms and the three went out.

Millicent was used to compliance whenever she needed to take a witch by the arm, and the cousins didn't resist. Once inside the study, Millicent waved her hand toward a settee and waited while Tracey and Daphne got comfortable.

"Cyrus did very well for me," Millicent began. "I wasn't left a whole lot, but I do get to keep control of what I have. Once the contract is blessed by the goblins, we'll do a formal announcement. We're still talking about a party. I'm kind of ambivalent. So much going right now, getting back to school…"

"Maybe a dinner?" suggested Tracey. "A few close friends and family? We'll help you plan, won't we Daphne?"

"Of course, I'll even offer Mother's planning skills," Daphne laughed. "You won't have to do anything but take the floo."

She stood and reached out for Millicent who let herself be pulled into a hug. Daphne rocked her back and forth a few times.

"Long life and lots of happiness, Millicent," said Daphne. "No one deserves it more."

Tracey had to offer Millicent the box of tissues from the desk when Daphne let her go. The hug and best wishes opened up a spillway of pent-up emotions that, once released, had to be allowed to leave. They got Millicent seated and Tracey sat next to her, an arm around Millicent's shoulders. No one said anything. Tracey and Daphne didn't need to talk and Millicent was temporarily incapable.

The door opened, quietly, and Neville peered around the jamb.

"Problem?" he stage-whispered.

Daphne motioned him in.

"Sit down and cuddle your fiancée," Daphne ordered, setting off a fresh episode of tears.

Tracey stood up to make room for Neville. Daphne knelt in front of Millicent.

"We're going to go and let this wizard take over, love," Daphne said. "That's his prerogative, now. We'll keep the party going for you."

Tracey and Daphne slipped out leaving Millicent on the settee, wrapped up in Neville's arms. Once the witches were gone Millicent didn't have any trouble pinching off the tears. She straightened up, dabbed her eyes a few more times and gave Neville a smile.

"Thank-you," she said, giving Neville a kiss on the lips for his services. "We're really going to do this, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are," said Neville. "Next thing we need to talk about is dates."

"I know, I know," Millicent said. "It's just so hard, without Mum…"

Neville thought Millicent was going to start up again, and it would be all his fault for mentioning a date, but his fiancée took a deep breath, then another. She drew her wand and passed it in front of her face, getting rid of the tears and puffiness.

"There," she said. "Thank-you, Neville. I love you."

Neville looked into Millicent's eyes.

"I love you, too, Millicent," he said. "I've never been this happy."

The contract in the matter of Neville Longbottom, OM, and Millicent Bulstrode was quite simple, as magical marriage contracts went. As Millicent had told Daphne and Tracey, Cyrus had arranged for Millicent to retain control of her inheritance. Neville deferred to Millicent on the name to be given to their second son, were there to be one. Neither had thought that far ahead but Augusta and Cyrus explained that Millicent might want the freedom to name a son Bulstrode, making him the heir to her estate and the founder of a new male line. Neville thought that was a great idea, suggesting it would be in both families' interests if he and Millicent turn their attention to the production of heirs for their two houses as soon as possible.

Harry was back in the circular space at the corner of Augusta's parlor when Daphne returned from the other room. Harry was engaged in some chatting-up as people came and went. He tried not to notice Daphne coming in the room. He tried to not be looking her way as she scanned the crowd. Neither worked. Daphne's eyes locked with Harry's and neither looked away. Daphne began working her way through the crowd.

"Daphne," said Harry.

"Harry," Daphne returned. She waited to see if Harry had any follow-up thoughts. She didn't know it, but Harry was drawing a blank, conversation-wise.

"Nice party," he managed. "I may have told you that already."

"Maybe," said Daphne, "Although that doesn't change the facts."

Harry thought that was pretty funny, and told her so.

"Thanks," said Daphne.

"I'm sorry, can I fetch a drink? Cup of tea? Something edible?" Harry asked.

"That's all I've been doing," said Daphne, "But thank-you anyway."

"Want to get a little air?" asked Harry.

"I would, thank-you," she answered.

They went out onto the spacious verandah that wrapped around three sides of Longbottom Manor. Augusta's verandah was equipped with a generous assortment of rattan settees, chaises and rockers. Harry put two of the rockers together and offered one to Daphne.

"Do you smoke? Feel free," said Harry as he sat down.

"No. Do you?"

"No," he said. "I drink a butterbeer now and then, mostly with something greasy at the Leaky Cauldron. The right white wine with fish. Other than that, I've stayed on the straight and narrow."

"Well, with your history, you don't need any of that to make you more interesting."

Daphne caught herself. She looked away as her face turned red. December or no, she was burning.

"HO!" Harry said. "I do like that. Thank-you, Daphne, that has made my day. My whole Christmas season. I'd trade a lot of interesting to get back…"

Daphne waited for Harry to finish, but he'd caught himself this time.

"Harry, I'm so sorry," Daphne said. "I had no desire to call up any old trauma."

"I know you didn't," Harry said. "We barely know one another but I know you aren't like that. Don't apologize. I have to learn to live with it. While I stay interesting enough…"

"Enough?"

Harry slowed his rocking.

"To keep you interested."

"Harry Potter! You really do think I'm that kind of interested?"

"I do," Harry said. "We spoke, what? Once or twice a year, the first six, if that? Then you just appeared, fixed my hat problem with some very accomplished magic, and invited me to call you by your first name. Now here we are, ditching the party and getting some air, having a serious conversation. Tell me where you find fault with my logic."

Harry looked directly at Daphne, who returned his gaze.

"You're being completely straight and above board?"

"I am," he said. "My recent adventures didn't just make me interesting, at least to a certain kind of witch. They knocked a lot of the frivolity off. Putting our society back on its feet is going to take work. Millicent and Neville have me thinking. Our childhood is finished, magical society is still exhausted. People our age will have to do our share, maybe more than our share, and we're going to have lots of opportunities to do it."

"Don't you beat all?" Daphne said. "Such deep thinking. Well, fine, then. Come up with some activity you think we'll both enjoy and invite me out. Just a couple of rules. Don't two-time me. I won't do it to you. If you really are serious you don't need the distraction. This is about seeing if we work, together. Second thing, you'll get an invitation to the Greengrass's, soon. Keep your wits and don't get distracted by your hormones. You'll be there to observe. Be sure we're what you want before you and I get too involved. Family can be intrusive among witches and wizards. Everyone has to get along."

Harry really wanted to leave, take Daphne's hand in his, and walk for hours and hours, but he settled for stretching out his arm and just touching her knuckles with his fingertips.

The rest of the party was pleasant enough, but that was all that Harry remembered. Augusta and Cyrus returned from folderol at the goblins,' all smiles, Cyrus carrying two portfolios of some crimson material. He gave one to Augusta, who left the room with hers, and Neville. He took Millicent in hand and left, appearing to be headed back to the little study.

Perhaps it is belaboring the obvious to mention it, but no one departed the Longbottoms' until the four returned. From the smiles, it was taken as read that negotiations had been concluded on mutually-beneficial terms, although there was an embargo on discussion until the official announcement. People began leaving shortly after that. The departure niceties took much longer than usual, as each guest had to thank Augusta, Neville, Millicent, Tracey and Daphne, since they'd all had a part in conceiving the event, hosting it, or contributing a pleasant surprise for everyone's enjoyment.

"You've made history," Harry said. He meant Neville and Millicent, but it applied to all of them.

"Not to get overly histrionic," said Tracey.

"Wonderful party. Thanks for the hospitality, and the delightful company," Harry said, taking Augusta's fingertips in his, bending low to kiss her hand. "Tracey. Daphne."

Harry just touched fingers with the two, strode to the door and walked to a point outside the wards so he could disapparate.

"You and Harry Potter," mused Tracey later that day at Greengrass Manor. Daphne and her cousin were so close they each had something like reciprocal rights at the other's home, including a bed in the commodious bedrooms and a personal drawer in the dresser.

"It doesn't have to mean the end of the world," Daphne said. "Potter doesn't strike me as the type to keep a witch in velvet restraints in a dungeon or tower until he's ready to take her for his exotic pleasures four or five times a day. He's a serious wizard."

"Ummmh…" said Tracey, "Ahhh…I mean, where do you get such ideas? That would be just awful, if it ever actually happened."

She developed an itch that just had to be scratched, right then.

"It was a metaphor, of course," Daphne assured her. "Ready for lights out?"

The logistics of Neville and Millicent's life became bi-polar, with their impending engagement one pole and completing their eighth Hogwarts year the other. Tracey and Daphne pitched in, as promised, substituting a small and elegant dinner at Greengrass Manor for a traditional engagement party. Neville had Harry at the top of his list of guests he wanted invited.

His first visit to Greengrass Manor was for the small family dinner Daphne organized for Harry. When he returned to the manor for Neville and Millicent's event, he was treated like family. Harry was even given a job, helping Daphne with the first-contact niceties just inside the front door, greeting the arriving guests and directing them onward to the receiving line.

Cyrus and Cordelia, Mrs. Greengrass, used round tables for their formal events. Cordelia preferred to break up the mass of guests in order to facilitate conversation. The head table comprised the guests of honor, Augusta Longbottom, Cyrus and Cordelia, Harry and Daphne. That left one place unoccupied. Cordelia acquired a photo of Frank and Alice Longbottom somewhere, framed it and placed it on the dinner plate at the unoccupied place.

Harry and Neville put on quite a show in their formal robes. Harry suggested they get new outfits for the dinner. He essentially demanded that Neville order a robe with his Order of Merlin badge embroidered on the front. Harry ordered the same model, putting two holders of the award at the head table. Cordelia Greengrass couldn't keep her eyes off Neville and Harry's robes.

"You and Neville made Mother's year," Daphne told Harry when she got the chance.

"What for?" Harry asked.

"Those incredible badges on your robes," said Daphne. "At least one of those pictures is bound to make the Prophet. She'll be the envy of her circle for quite some time."

"Ah, I get it. Snob appeal."

"Yes, but just between us, Potter. Please don't ever say it in front of her. She isn't aggressive about it. She'll just treasure the memory of once sitting at dinner between two handsome holders of the Order of Merlin. That's a rare event. Society owes you and Neville a lot."

Neville and Millicent returned to Hogwarts as an engaged couple. Their schedules for spring term were oriented toward the NEWTs they'd be taking in June. Both leaned heavily toward herbology and the related discipline of potions. They liked spending time working in the greenhouses, so their new status as a formally-engaged couple didn't cause many changes in their established routines.

Millicent discovered she had a need to nurture. She was a surprised as anyone. A few witches from the lower years were struggling with herbology. Millicent discovered their difficulties when one made the traditional announcement, "I HATE HERBOLOGY!" one evening in the Slytherin common room. Millicent offered her help, which led to diagnosing the problem, providing a little remedial reading, getting a reputation for having both knowledge and a knack for pinpointing problems, leading to tutorials and finally, after dinner seminars.

Neville's technical knowledge exceeded Millicent's, so she drafted her fiancé as an additional resource and began hosting regular herbology evenings in unused classrooms. What had begun in the Slytherin common room evolved into an all-school herbology workshop. Anyone who was struggling was welcome, from any house and any year. Millicent wasn't the foremost upper class herbology authority but the workshop was unquestionably hers.

The young witches naturally sought space under Millicent's wing for consultations on topics other than herbology. After the first time Millicent ceased to be surprised. One of the fifth-year witches stayed late to help straighten the desks and clean blackboards. As soon as they were alone the witch spoke up.

"Miss Millicent?" she said, voice little more than a squeak.

"Uh-huh," Millicent said as she eyeballed a row. "Something you didn't get an answer to?"

The witch, whose name was Eleanora, nodded once and burst into tears.

"Oh, Eleanora, I'm sorry, what is the matter?" Millicent asked as she hurried toward the witch.

She got them both accommodated on a bench and waited for Eleanora to cry herself out.

"It's, a boy, and I really like him but I think we went too far and I'm afraid…" said the witch.

"Oh," said Millicent, then again, "Oh. Well, can I ask what you did?"

"We were just kissing and then he put his hand…Here."

"Alright," said Millicent. "What did you do then?"

Eleanora didn't say anything for a bit.

"I put my hand on him…There."

"Okay, was that it?"

Eleanora nodded.

"Will I get pregnant?" she asked.

Millicent had to bite her lip to beat back the laughter. One part of her mind knew it was a serious moment, while another wanted to laugh and laugh and hold Eleanora and assure her everything was fine and get her laughing, too. But, of course, that wouldn't do.

"No, if that is all the further you went you won't get pregnant," said Millicent. "However, you feel you went too far, so you did go too far. Do you understand? The only authority you need to consult for that is what you feel in here. Besides that, you are overdue for learning just how babies are made, which you need to know so that you can see situations like yours coming and avoid them. Can I get you to come with me? There's another witch I want you to talk to."

Millicent took Eleanora in hand and went directly to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey had no inpatients on her hands so she invited the two into her private office and closed the door. Over tea and some shortbread cookies the three talked about this and that, which naturally led to Madam Pomfrey explaining how maturing bodies produced all kinds of chemicals, including hormones and pheromones, which were like natural versions of amortentia. The corollary to all the good feelings generated was a young person's body wanted to keep going to the point of reproduction. This involved the same kind of process Eleanora learned about in herbology, pollination, in effect, although modified in some details for mammals.

Eleanora might have possessed a cursory knowledge of how her anatomy might at some future time engage with a prospective mates' but she didn't appear very comfortable hearing Madam Pomfrey description of the concrete details. The healer gently turned the discussion back to Eleanora's experience, acknowledging the feelings that steer the flesh toward consummation are really what is in control after a certain point, overcoming inhibitions and even a strong, competing desire to refrain.

Every organism that reproduced sexually shared that process. It was one of the fundamental requirements of life, so magical biology made it feel really good, while it was going on, so that young, healthy witches and wizards would want to do it over and over. The problem for Eleanora was that she and her wizard were much too young to have a reasonable chance for a good life on their own. First, they needed to complete their magical educations, then they might want to take some time getting to know one another better so they were sure they were well-suited for a lifetime partnership, and so on. Of course, there was the factor of parents, as well. Did Eleanora think her mother and father might have something to say about her future plans?

"Do you think you love the young gentleman?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

Eleanora sat, thinking.

"No," she said finally. "He's very good-looking, though."

"Maybe you two should get to know one another better before doing the things that lead to families, responsibility for another life…?"

Eleanora thought some more, then she turned to Millicent, throwing her arms around her mentor.

"Thank-you," she managed to whisper.

"All set?" Millicent asked. "Anything you have a question about?"

"Not tonight," said the witch. She turned to Madam Pomfrey, curtsied, and thanked her for her help.

"I'm good," she said, her jaw set.

"Better go on, then," said Millicent. She watched until Eleanora exited the ward.

"Thank-you, Madam Pomfrey, I knew she needed an expert," Millicent said.

"Miss Bulstrode, you get all the credit. You showed judgment, insight and professionalism. What are you thinking of doing, as a career?"

"Becoming Lady Longbottom, eventually," laughed Millicent.

"You'll do a fine job, as will the future Lord Longbottom, I'm sure, but think, while you still have the luxury of time to do it, about some career fields. Healing, specifically. Your way with your young charges has been noticed," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Who…?"

"Miss Bulstrode, you know better. Just know the volunteer work with the herbology seminar has earned you some fans among the faculty. Now, careers in healing. You've the natural gift of empathy and a good grasp of the basic biological processes. Mastering the magical formulary and some work with magical diagnostic technique would have you ninety-nine percent of the way to your qualifications. Think it over."

Millicent did think it over. Then she talked it over with her fiancé. By the first of March she had sat down with Madam Pomfrey again, filling out applications and drafting an essay to forward to the Guild, stating why she hoped to make a career of healing. She was admitted to the program and assigned her first tutor just before end of term.

The time available for Millicent's personal needs was very short, just a few weeks between end of term and the commencement of her training. Neville offered to put off their wedding while she worked toward her qualification. Millicent wasn't having it.

"No," she said.

"It would be easier for you," said Neville.

"I think I would like to be the judge of what would be easier for me," said Millicent.

Neville paused to think.

"Suit yourself," he said.

"Neville Longbottom!" Millicent nearly shouted. "Look at me. Do you want to go to sleep next to this? Do you want to wake up in the morning and discover it on the other side of your bed?"

"You know I do, more than anything."

"Then please, Neville, allow me to feel the same things you feel," Millicent said. "I know myself well enough to know that I won't focus on healing if I'm not getting my daily allowance of Longbottom."

Millicent followed with some punctuation involving hands that started around Neville's cheekbones, slid into his hair, brought his lips to hers, and finished with a thorough Millicenting of the inside of Neville's mouth.

"Questions?" she asked.

"Nothing says you can't do both," acknowledged Neville.

"Finally," Millicent observed.

Midway through April, Millicent convened Daphne and Tracey to talk about wedding plans. The first thing she had to do was determine the size of her wedding party.

"We're getting married in the garden at Augusta's," she said. Tracey and Daphne made suitable approving sounds.

"Six in the wedding party, I think, would be the maximum for the space."

"Oh, how nice…Jewel-box…balance…exquisite…"

"Uh-huh," Millicent said. "So, one bridesmaid, or two? That would mean a best man, or, a best man and a groomsman for Neville."

"Oh, I think two, don't you?" said Tracey.

"A party of six, yes, it will look nice in the garden," agreed Daphne.

"And in the portrait," said Tracey. "You'll want a nice portrait for the Prophet, and the album…"

"I think you're right," Millicent said. "I was leaning that way, but I wanted to know what you thought. I guess it would be an obvious choice then, to ask if one or both of you would want to be in the party?"

"Oooh, Millicent, me? Us? Oooh, would you? Oooh, we'd be honored, wouldn't we?"

The exchange ended with an affirmation from both that they'd love to be in Millicent's wedding party. Millicent didn't have to pick which to elevate to Maid of Honor. She let diplomacy handle that by casually observing that Neville wanted Harry for his best man. Tracey immediately deferred to Daphne, because, things being as they were, Tracey just couldn't.

"It wouldn't be right," she said.

"Oh, if you're sure," said Daphne.

"Of course, Daphne, you must, and it's the first wedding from our group, you're going to be part of history," said Tracey.

"Does Neville have another groomsman yet?" Tracey asked.

"Blaise," said Millicent.

"Blaise Zabini," said Tracey, making it a statement. A little rose hue crept up her neck until it added some interest at her cheekbones. "Blaise. Well. He's certainly going to make a good-looking arm for someone to…decorate."

"Can you live with that?" asked Millicent.

"Ah…yes," said Tracey. "Yes. Blaise will do quite nicely. For yours and Neville's wedding, I mean."

Thus it transpired, Neville and Millicent were married in the garden at Longbottom Manor on a beautiful June morning, attended by a party of classmates who added their own glamor to the official wedding portrait. Frank and Alice Longbottom were able to attend, although they were accommodated inside in a room with a nice view of the garden. After the ceremony the party paid a call on the Longbottoms and Millicent gave Alice her bouquet to take back to St. Mungo's.

Neville was accepted for a mastery program in herbology. Millicent would have three different tutors during her healing studies, all located in or around Oxford. The newlyweds rented a cottage in a magical village outside the city and threw themselves into their disciplines. Millicent promised Neville an heir just as soon as she could find the time. Neville agreed she had plenty to keep her occupied, at least until the intensity of her healing curriculum passed, and that practicing for when the time would be right was a very attractive prospect.

Ten years later, nearly to the day, Neville held out his arms and took his second son from the midwife, ready and eager to greet him and make introductions.

"You, young man, are Frank Longbottom Bulstrode," he said. "My name is Neville, and I'm your father. This is Millicent, your mother. Welcome to Earth. We are all going to have a lot of fun together."


End file.
